


Cocktober 17: Teeth AKA Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word (to Hear)

by Glitter_Bug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Billy Recovering, Biting, Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Panic Attack, Post S3, Scratching, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug
Summary: Billy just wants to apologise to Steve and get outta town.Steve is gonna make him work for forgiveness.It's a good job that Billy can cook.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 130
Collections: Cocktober Prompt Meme





	Cocktober 17: Teeth AKA Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word (to Hear)

**Author's Note:**

> Some smutty Cocktober angst here.  
> Almost entirely un proof-read, sorry!

The biggest shock, thinks Steve, isn’t even that Billy Hargrove is back. It isn’t that he’s alive or that he’s pretty much OK or even that he’s currently holed up in a crappy government-issued house barely a twenty-minute walk away from Family Video.

No, thinks Steve, the biggest shock is that Billy Hargrove wants to see him. Tonight.

Max had delivered the message, had run into Family Video that morning, red-faced and panting with a crumpled piece of paper bearing Billy’s new address. She’d pleaded with Steve to go, had said it was  _ important, _ that Billy needed to talk to him. That he had something that he needed to say.

And Steve knew he had to go, because Steve had been doing a lot of thinking about Billy since Starcourt. 

He realised that he’s been holding two versions of Billy in his head, almost like two separate entities.

There’s ‘Golden’ Billy, the Billy of Hawkins High.The one that Steve pictures on the basketball court, smirk plastered on his face, a shaft of sunlight streaming over his shirtless body, his muscles and swagger and the sheer fact of him being new, of being some shiny novelty, meaning that he had everyone’s attention from day one. A kid, fresh outta Cali and with a whole future ahead of him. 

Then there’s the Billy that Steve thinks of as ‘Broken’ Billy. The Billy he last saw, lying on the floor of the mall, holes torn in his body and black goo oozing from his mouth. Scared and confused and still with tear tracks running down his face. Still a kid, fresh outta hope and willing to die in order to save a girl he’d just met, save a town who never cared for him.

And both of these Billys have been running around Steve’s mind, taking turns to wake him up at night with his sheets damp and his heart hammering. Sometimes out of fear, sometimes out of something a little more confusing. 

And now, thinks Steve, he’s gonna have to make room for a new Billy in his head. 

The one standing in front of him, hair cut short and with dark shadows under his eyes, but still with that veneer of attitude, that danger.

Not golden, but not broken.

Whole, but not entire. 

“Max said you wanted to see me?” Steve offers, when Billy simply stands there, arms folded over his chest. 

Billy nods, uncurling his arms and stuffing his hands into his pockets. He shuffles from foot to foot, eyes dropping to look at the floor.

“Gotta apologise,” he grunts, not looking at Steve, “for, y’know, the…” Billy makes a vague gesture, a wave towards Steve’s face. “What I did.”

Steve waits, expectantly, but nothing more comes. It’s not an apology, by any standard. Billy’s tone isn’t exactly contrite, there’s no hint of remorse or guilt or anything that usually accompanies an apology. 

Steve tells him as much.

“That’s shit, Hargrove. You seriously dragged me out to the ass-end of Hawkins for that? Nah man, screw you.”

Billy’s head jerks up at that and he huffs.

“Fuck’s sake Harrington,” Billy growls, “‘S’not like I wanna do it.”

“So why are you?” Steve throws his arms up in confusion, “You invited me here, I didn’t...what do you want?”

Billy slouches against the doorframe, “Government therapy bullshit,” he grumbles, “Gotta make amends or whatever, gotta “face up to my past mistakes” he makes air quotes around the words, rolls his eyes as he does so. 

“Ok, and you couldn’t just’ve called me?” the frustration bleeds into Steve’s tone, he’s freezing, he’s tired and he really can’t be doing with this tonight. “Fine, whatever, thanks but no thanks.”

Steve turns on his heel, starts to march back to his car, and Billy shouts out, a hint of desperation in his voice.

“No, fuck, Harrington. It’s gotta... You’ve gotta accept.”

Steve turns back, moves closer to Billy and shakes his head, “Nope. Not for that Hargrove.You want to apologise, you do it properly. Mean it." 

And there’s a flash of something across Billy’s face, a complex mix of fear and disappointment, a quick hint of resignation. And then it’s replaced by the anger, the fury that Steve remembers so well. 

“Alright Harrington, I get it,” Billy’s voice is low, a growl, something dangerous in his tone, “You wanna hit me?” He steps forward suddenly, right into Steve's space, and leans his head up, presenting his cheek to Steve, “Go ahead.”

Steve shakes his head, takes a step back, “What the hell Hargrove? No.”

Billy storms back into the house, leaving the door wide open and Steve standing shell-shocked on the porch. He returns with a china plate and pushes it into Steve’s hands, pressing hard until Steve takes it.

“Nah, you’re right. Fair’s fair. Eye for a fucking eye and all that.” He turns his head again, waits. 

Steve just stands there, turning the plate over in his hands. He knows exactly what Billy’s asking, and there’s a part of him, some long-forgotten petty part, that really wants to do it. Wants to raise the plate high and let it crash down over Billy’s head, leave him with a scalp full of shards and a scar on his hairline. 

But Steve resists, doesn’t give in to the pettiness. He's better than that now.

He places the plate at Billy’s feet. Lays it down gently onto the rotting wooden boards.

“I’m not gonna hit you,” he says simply. 

Billy marches in and slams the door.

The plate stays on the porch.

***

“What the hell did you do?” Max storms into Family Video the next day, fury blazing just as red as her hair. Robin, quite wisely, chooses that moment to take her lunch break, leaving Steve to deal with Max’s simmering rage.

“I don’t- I mean, could be anything? What did I do?” Steve splutters, mind racing. He’s done quite a few things he feels guilty about, he just hadn’t realised that Max was aware of them too.

“With Billy,” she sighs, eyes rolling just as expressively as her step-brother’s had done. “You didn’t accept his apology.”

“He didn’t apologise.” Steve explains “Believe me, I’ve had to say my fair share of ‘sorry’s. What Billy did last night was nowhere near.”

“He’s  _ trying _ ,” Max’s eyes bore into Steve’s, rage still simmering there, “Stop being a dick and just accept it.”

Steve’s starting to feel a little angry himself, doesn’t get why he’s the bad guy in all of this. “Max, I have no idea why this is so important. But Billy honestly didn’t try, he even said he didn’t want to apologise.” 

And then Max’s face drops, so suddenly, so unexpectedly. The loss of anger making her look so much younger. “Just give him another chance, Steve. Go again tonight,” she pleads, “I’ll tell him to explain it all, properly.” 

So Steve goes again, he never could say no to Max and, honestly, he just wants to wrap this whole thing up. Has resigned himself to accepting whatever lame-ass apology Billy comes out with, just so he never has to drag himself back out here. 

He strides up the steps and knocks on the door, Billy opening it within seconds.

“Hey,” he actually seems surprised, “I didn’t think you’d...Max got to you then?”

And Steve can’t help but grin, “Yeah, she’s pretty persuasive, and terrifying when she’s angry. Pretty sure you two must be related.” 

Billy’s smile is smaller, somewhat tight round the edges, but it’s there. 

“Max says I gotta explain,” he ducks his head again, “Said I fucked it up last night, said if I explain, then you might just….” He steps back from the door and waves Steve in, “Look, come in- lemme just get it all out and then you can decide.”

So Steve enters, takes a look around the small, one-story house that Billy’s been calling home for the last few months, since he was released from the hospital with a limp, an NDA and a whole new understanding of the word ‘monster’. It’s not bad, Steve thinks, simple and shabby but kinda cosy, if you can ignore the damp patches on the ceiling and the way the paint is chipping off the walls. It looks like Billy's made an effort, the place isn’t overly messy and there's a row of pot plants thriving on the windowsill, a bowl full of fruit on the table near the kitchen, books piled onto a slightly bowing shelf. It's homey, warm, personal. 

And Billy looks good too. Steve didn't get a chance to really notice it last night, couldn't see past his own annoyance, but now- with the promise of everything finally making sense- Steve gives himself time to look, to take in this new Billy Hargrove. A blend of the golden and broken. The mullet is gone, but his hair is just getting long enough to start curling, and it still shines bright even in the low lamplight. He’s...not chubby, exactly, Steve realises, but definitely softer- muscles no longer being worked to the extreme. He might even look younger, if not for the haunted look still in his eyes and the dark circles surrounded them.

“Drink?” Billy asks, already moving off into the kitchen, “I think there’s a coupla beers in the fridge,”

“Sure,” Steve settles down onto the surprisingly comfortable sofa. He’d already geared himself up to accept whatever tonight had to offer and if it ends up being him knocking back a few cans with Billy then he’d take it; he’d been prepared for a lot worse than that

Steve watches as Billy reaches up into a cabinet to grab some glasses, the action causing his shirt to rise up, and Steve notices the slight swell of flesh just poking over the waistband of his jeans, the jagged white scar tissue spreading across it, and he’s hit with a realisation of just how close Billy came to dying, how much of a miracle it is he’s here at all, let alone here and walking and talking and holding out a cold glass of cheap beer.

“Thanks,” Steve says, taking it from him, “So, uh, how’re you doing?”

Billy smirks at that, an unpleasant look crossing his face as he takes a gulp of his own beer. 

“Trust me Harrington, you don’t wanna know.” 

“But Max said-” Steve tried, but Billy interrupts,

“Max says a load of shit,” he takes another drink, “But she’s not entirely an idiot. And maybe I do need to explain things a bit, so shut up and lemme try.”

He drinks deeply, then slams the now empty glass down on the coffee table and turns to face Steve.

“So after all the...monster shit,” Billy waves his hands in a dismissive gesture, “The government or scientists or whoever, they got me fixed up. Got me back to this fine specimen you see before you,” Billy slides a hand down himself, and Steve is hit with a sudden memory of Golden Billy- the same cocky gestures, the same confidence, the same glint in the eye. It’s still all there, a bit muted perhaps, but definitely there. 

“But those fuckers couldn’t just be satisfied, couldn’t just get me up and running and let me go. No, they got me some whiny-ass therapist bitch, wanted to untangle all my issues, poke around in my head and, I dunno, go all Freud on me,” he crinkles his nose dismissively, “And her big thing, her pet fucking project, is apparently my ‘lingering guilts’.” The finger quotes are out again, and Steve can hear the scorn in Billy’s voice, “So yeah, she sets me some dumb assignment, like it’s fucking high school or some shit. I’ve gotta think of five things I regret, things that I feel guilty about, and apologise for them. And she won’t sign me off until I’ve done it.” He reaches out for his glass again, twitching his fingers into a fist when he finds it empty, “So congratulations Harrington, you’re number five. Last one on the list. So yeah, I’m sorry for bashing your face in that night. Sorry for the punching and the plate and the fact that you’ve  _ never _ actually explained why my kid sister was in some freaky house in the middle of the night.”

Billy stops. He’s getting angry now and Steve can hear it bleeding into his tone, can see the way his muscles are tensing, the way his fingers are drumming on his thighs. He’s coiled, ready to strike.

Steve wonders if he’s going to be stuck in some vicious circle of Billy pummeling him until he accepts the apology, and then Billy having to apologise again. Round and round for eternity. 

But Billy calms himself, right in front of Steve, manages to push down the fury that had been rumbling through him. He takes a breath. Then another. Looks away from Steve and just keeps breathing like that, slow and steady, controlled. 

He turns back.

“I’m sorry.”

And Steve suddenly realises something. Realises that he’s holding the cards here, he’s the one with the power. Billy can get as angry or as grouchy or as violent as he likes, but it’s up to Steve to decide when to accept the apology. 

And Steve knows that it won’t last. Knows that eventually Billy will just give up on the whole thing. Will spin some bullshit story to his therapist and get himself signed off and probably be out of Hawkins the moment the government takes their eye off him.

But until then, Steve’s gonna draw this out as long as he can. He’s gonna make Hargrove  _ work. _

So Steve sips at his beer, casually, calmly, like he has all the time in the world. 

And then he looks Billy right in the eye, right into those baby-blues that had all the girls swooning, and he says, 

“Nope.”

Billy surges up from the sofa and pushes Steve hard on the shoulder. It reminds Steve of high school, of Billy being all in his space during basketball. 

“Trust you to be an absolute bitch about this Harrington,” Billy presses his fingers slightly against Steve’s collarbone and Steve relaxes into the sofa, lets Billy's hand hold him down, doesn't care to struggle. 

“Why’d’ya have to drag it out like this? Even Lucas forgave me. He's a kid and you're the one acting like a fucking toddler."

"You talked to Lucas?" Steve cocks his head, surprised, and Billy releases him, slumps back down on the couch.

"Yeah, he was second on the list. Just after Max. Talked to them both together actually."

"And he was...ok with everything?"

Steve's always quite liked Lucas, always known he was a good kid, and now his admiration grows a little more. 

"Yeah, once I'd agreed to buy him a Sega,"

Steve can't help but laugh at that. He can just picture it, can just picture Lucas driving a hard bargain, probably haggling his way up from a handful of quarters for the arcade all the way to some top of the line system. 

"That's not apologising," Steve wheezes out, "That's bribery. Or maybe extortion? Y'know I'm not sure who the victim is in this situation."

He laughs again, and Billy joins in, the tension between them diffusing. "So whatd'ya say?" Billy tries again, "I'm kinda broke right now but I can probably swing to a second hand Walkman, lightly used?” he grins, and knocks his leg against Steve’s, “C’mon, there’s gotta be something that even King Steve wants.”

Steve thinks for a minute, takes a moment to relish the power he holds. 

There’s a lot he could make Billy do, he realises, and he thinks about making him beg, thinks about having Billy down there, on his knees, and the thought causes a pleasant lurch in his stomach. And then Steve thinks of something else, something even more appealing. 

“Dinner,” he says, downing the last swallow of beer, “Tomorrow. And real food, not just a microwave pizza.” He leans over to put his empty glass on the coffee table, then turns around to see Billy gaping at him, mouth and eyes wide,

“Seriously?” Billy says, an actual look of shock on his face.

“Seriously,” Steve nods, “You cook something decent, and I’ll  _ think _ about forgiving you.” He holds out a hand, and Billy looks at it with a cocked eyebrow, so Steve stuff it into his pocket. 

“Alright,” Billy shrugs, “Fine, whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow, Harrington”

***

Steve returns the next night, skipping up the porch steps with a six-pack of beers under his arm. Billy must’ve heard the car, because he’s throwing open the door before Steve even has the chance to knock, the smell of something delicious wafting out from the house. 

“You actually cooked!” Steve grins in surprise. He’d half expected Billy to get some kind of microwave meal, just to spite him. 

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Billy huffs, stepping back to make room for Steve, “Gotta keep my word.” 

Steve just smiles and hands the beer over, slipping off his shoes and giving the house the once over. It’s obvious that Billy’s cleaned up, the few messes from the night before are all straightened out or put away entirely, the books on the shelf standing upright, the cushions on the couch all straightened out. Even the kitchen looks surprisingly neat, just a few pots and pans out on the sides, with the largest one still bubbling away on the hob, sauce dribbling out over the top. 

Billy darts over and turns off the heat, and then moves over the the already set table, pulling out one of the chairs

“Come on then,” he says to Steve, “Sit down, it’s all pretty much ready.”

  
It turns out that when Billy cooks, he  _ really _ cooks. Not only has he made some fancy pasta dish, all meaty and cheesy and covered in a sauce that Steve can tell has at least three different herbs in it, but there’s also fresh bread on the side, still warm from the oven.

Steve thinks he should be ashamed at how quickly he starts wolfing down his portion, but he honestly hasn’t had anything this good in years. 

They chat over dinner, Steve mostly talking with his mouth full, reminiscing over high school, the girls, the basketball team, Tommy and Carol. Steve tells Billy about how they both went off to the same college, how they’re still together, surprisingly, how he’s expecting them to come back next year with a little kid in tow. It’s weird how easily they drop into friendly chatter, how relaxed Steve starts to feel, how easily the conversation flows. 

Steve mourns the loss of his pasta the moment he finishes it, running his finger around the bowl to try and mop up the last of the sauce. Billy raises an eyebrow at his absolute lack of table manners, 

“Slow down, Harrington, might wanna leave room for dessert.”

“You made dessert?” Steve’s eyes are wide, “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

“Had to fucking learn,” Billy mutters as he crosses back over to the kitchen, coming back with two bowls, placing one in front of Steve. “There, if there’s any space left in that gut of yours.”

He gives Steve a sharp jab in the stomach, and Steve groans. It’s true that his jeans are feeling a lot tighter than when he first got here, but he’s not the only one. His eyes are once more drawn to that little roll on Billy’s stomach, more prominent when he’s sitting down. Steve feels a sudden urge to hold it, to feel it between his fingers, to press his mouth to it and bite down, only gently, to feel the firmness of that flesh between his teeth.

He shakes the image from his head, takes a spoonful of the pudding instead and his mouth is filled with a dark, chocolatey taste- almost bitter in its richness. It’s immediately followed by a much sweeter afternote, something with a hint of toffee coating his tongue in a sudden rush of caramel.

Steve lets out a moan. He can’t keep it back and it sounds utterly filthy, even to his ears, and he can feel the blush building on his cheeks.

“Jesus, Harrington, save it for the bedroom,” Billy says, blushing as well, a flood of red filling his face.

They both eat the rest of the meal in silence, just the clink of cutlery as Steve scrapes the last of the pudding from the bowl and Billy watches him impatiently.

"Come on then, dinner like that has got to be worth forgiveness? Can't say you didn't like it. The damn neighbours heard your orgasm."

Steve didn't think he could get any redder, and it’s perhaps Billy’s teasing, and the flush of shame he feels, that makes Steve decide to push it just that little bit further.

"You're close, Hargrove, one more meal maybe. Another pudding like that."

"Jesus," Billy stands up and starts muttering up his breath and he collects up the plates, slamming them together. Steve puts a gentle hand on his arm and stops him.

"Nah man, you cooked. I'm on dish duty."

Billy sits back down, flops his head onto his arms and lets out a truly pathetic whine. 

“What’s it gonna take Steve? C’mon, I did what you asked.” 

Steve takes the dishes away and drops them into the sink, plunging his hands into the soapy water and starting to scrub, “You’re close, I promise. Hey, who else got an apology anyway?”

Billy looks up, starts counting on his fingers. “Max and Lucas, they were the first two,” he glares at Steve, “And they both took it a lot better than you have. No fucking...housewife shit.” He holds up his middle finger at Steve, then pretends to count on it, “That kid- the one I nearly killed.”

“El,” Steve supplies, 

“Yeah, El. She was nice,” Billy’s smile is genuine now, a wistful look in his eye, “We talked a lot. She told me I didn’t need to say anything, that she understood. But I did anyway.” He glares at Steve again, “See, another kid who knows how to take an apology. Maybe you could learn something.” 

Steve ignores the jab, finishes washing up the dishes and comes to sit back down.

“And who else? That’s three, then I make four. Thought you said five?”

And Billy closes down at that, Steve can see the instant the walls fly up, the moment that Billy shuts him out.

“No one you’d care about,” he growls, and Steve holds up his hands,

“Okay dude, it’s fine, it’s your business-”

“Damn right it is,” Billy snaps, “Now if you’re still not gonna forgive me you can get the fuck out.”

He stands up, shoving his chair back roughly, but Steve stays sitting, folds his arms 

“Chill out Billy, look, I was having a nice night. And maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to warm up to you. Might just be edging towards forgiveness, ok?” 

Billy sits back down slowly, his eyes never leaving Steve’s. Steve can still tell that Billy’s not quite as open as before, not as relaxed, but there’s a glimmer of hope. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So pour me a beer and we’ll see what’s on TV. If you can keep it civil for, let’s see,” Steve glances at his watch, “another couple of hours, I’ll forgive you. You can tick me off your little list and be done with it all.”

Billy goes straight to the fridge to get the beers. He passes one over to Steve, no glass this time, and sits down next beside him on the sofa. They watch the television in silence, some inane sitcom that neither of them really pay any attention to. Steve turns to Billy, returns to the same small talk they’d been doing before, watches as Billy loosens up, as he relaxes into the sofa, laughing over shared memories of terrible teachers, of Tina’s parties, of pranks pulled on the last day of the year. Of a life so far removed from Demogorgons and Mind Flayers that Steve feels a real pull of longing and nostalgia for it. 

The sitcom, and their reminiscing, both come to an end, but Steve isn’t quite ready to leave yet.

They share a few more beers, finishing the pack Steve bought and making their way through Billy’s supplies. They’re both leaning in a little closer, pressed together at the arms and thighs. Billy’s head knocking against Steve’s when he laughs. Steve’s feeling light headed, feeling happier than he has in weeks, months possibly. Had forgotten the pleasure of just kicking back like this,

“So what are you gonna do when you’re done? List complete or whatever?” he asks Billy, genuinely curious. 

“Cali,” Billy’s face lights up at the word, at the memory, “I’m getting out of here, Steve. Gonna get the first damn bus out of the station.”

And that hits Steve like a freight train because, of course, no Camaro. He feels a stab of guilt at that, remembers smashing into it, smashing into Billy. Steve tries to keep his voice steady as he answers,

“Yeah? What’s in Cali?”

“Everything,” Billy breathes, and his smile is the most real, the most pure, that Steve has ever seen, his eyes dazed from more than just the alcohol. “You ever been Steve?” Billy doesn’t wait for the answer, “I can’t wait to see the ocean again, just that smell, y’know? The openness. And the beaches, man, gonna just lie there in the sand, be fucking  _ warm _ again.” Billy closes his eyes, “There’s this bit, this strip, away from all the tourists, all hidden and secret. No one knew. I used to go there everyday with Carlos and-” Billy jolts upright suddenly, eyes open, suddenly full of fear. He moves away from Steve, makes a space between them. 

“Who’s Carlos?” Steve asks gently, already guessing at the answer. He wouldn’t be surprised, not really. He’s heard a lot from Max, heard the reasons why Billy didn’t want to go back home after the hospital, heard the reasons why they left California in the first place. He’s never had a name to put with it all, but Carlos makes sense.

But Billy just shrugs, crushing his beer can in his fist and scowling at the liquid that spills over his fist.

“No-one,” he mutters, turning his attention back to the television. 

Steve does the same.

There’s a film on now, some trashy, low budget horror which seems to contain very few scares and lots of shots of a woman in lingerie running around a dark house. 

Steve tries to diffuse the tension, “she’ll die of hypothermia before the monster’s had a chance to find her,” he grins, and it’s a lame effort- not even funny, really- but it seems to work and Billy smiles back.

There’s a shot of the monster, some fuzzy, furry blob thing, and Billy rolls his eyes, “Think I fished that thing out of my shower drain a week ago,” he smiles, and Steve lets out a huff of laughter. 

“Kinda looks like the mop you used to have on your head,” Steve elbows him gently, and Billy tugs at Steve’s own messy hair.   
“Look who’s fucking talking,” Steve bats him away with a laugh, and they both turn back to the television.

There’s a close up on the lady now, and she's screaming- all red lips and white white teeth- before the weird blob thing reaches out and shoves a long, slimy tentacle down her throat, in and out. She's gagging and coughing, her eyes watering and it's utterly disgusting but so badly done, so over-acted that it’s actually funny. It's so on the nose, so obvious, that Steve can’t help but laugh.

He looks over to Billy, ready for his comment, knows it’ll be something filthy about how the technique’s no good, how she’s ‘gotta use a bit more tongue baby’, knows exactly how Billy will say it with a glint in his eye and a lick of his lips.

But instead, Billy’s frozen. 

His hands are curled into fists, white knuckled, and Steve can hear his breaths, short and fast and frantic. 

His eyes are locked on the screen, but Steve can tell his mind is somewhere else, he's seeing some other tentacles, some other monster.

And Steve scrambles for the remote. Mashes the buttons until the screen hisses with static instead. One more click and it turns it off.

Billy’s grinding his teeth together, the sound echoing through the room. Steve can imagine him doing it until they’re ground down to dust, until Billy’s mouth is pouring with blood. Matching that haunting image of him in Steve’s head, the one where he’s lying on the mall floor, the one where there’s blood and black goo and Max’s screams echoing around.

Steve reaches out a hand, unsure, thinks that if he puts even a finger on Billy it might get bitten off. 

“Billy? Hey, uh, Billy?” 

It’s too quiet, barely audible, Steve tries again, louder.

“Billy!”

Billy doesn’t move, doesn’t react.

So Steve goes for it and lays his hand gently onto Billy’s arm. 

It works. Billy jolts, shoots a frantic look around the room that Steve recognises from the aftermath of his own nightmares. Tears spring to his eyes immediately, and he’s shaking, the picture of fear. He leans into Steve’s touch, and Steve can hear the whimpers that Billy is trying to force back, can feel him practically vibrating- his muscles locked and tense. 

And Steve’s suddenly overwhelmed with guilt. What the  _ fuck _ is he playing at? Making Billy jump through all these stupid hoops before Steve’’ll accept his apology, when Billy’s clearly done more than enough to redeem himself. When all Billy wants is to get out of Hawkins, get away from the hellhole that’s chewed him up and spat him out, and Steve’s the only thing standing in his way.

Steve feels sick, feels about an inch high. 

He’d done this- he’s the reason that Billy is still awake, he’s the reason that he even saw the dumb horror film- so now he had to fix it.

“Hey,” Steve keeps his voice low, keeps it soothing, “Billy, it’s OK. It’s gone. It wasn’t...that.”

Billy is looking at him now, eyes wary and watery, so Steve keeps going, “You’re safe, you’re in your house, with me. Nothing else, no one else. I promise.” Steve rubs his hand soothingly along Billy’s arm, keeps up the reassuring words. He waits until Billy’s stopped shaking, waits until the fear is starting to leave his eyes, before he takes his hand away and goes to get Billy a glass of water.

The kitchen is only a few steps away, but it feels like a mile. When Steve returns, Billy is scratching at his arms, digging in hard enough to leave white trails along the skin.

Steve quickly puts the glass down and holds onto Billy’s hands instead, tries to hold them still. Billy wrenches them out of his grip, plunges his nails back into his skin and scratches even harder, the white marks turning into red trails.

“Stop! Billy, stop it,” Steve grabs hold again, firmer this time, refusing to let go no matter how much Billy pulls. Billy makes a noise in the back of his throat, a desperate whine layered with pain.

“Billy? What is it, does it hurt?” Steve lays his hands over the worst of the scratches, and Billy nods frantically, 

“I can feel it, I can feel him. Like he’s back, like he’s in my skin,” he gasps, his hands flying onto his legs, trying to grab and scratch through the denim of his jeans, “It’s like a burn, like an itch. I just need...I need to feel something else. Anything else.” He moves his hands to his chest, raking at the material, pulling on the buttons until he gets to his skin. Then he’s scratching again, deeper this time. 

Steve looks around in a panic, tries to think of an idea.

"Yeah? I can run you a bath?" Steve remembers the poky mould spattered bathroom, very much without a bathtub, "or, well, a shower?

"Not enough, it's, _ fuck _ , it won't be enough."

Billy is still scratching, Steve can see tiny pools of blood coming up from under his nails, starting to drip down Billy’s chest.

And Steve gets an idea. A crazy idea. 

But it's not like his sane ones have ever gotten him very far 

He pulls Billy's hand away, then leans down, finds the very spot where Billy was scratching, right on his pec, where the flecks of blood are lying. He puts his mouth to them and presses down, very gently, scrapes his teeth along just a little. 

Billy stills underneath him, lets out a moan. Steve jolts back and looks at his face.

“Bill?”

And Billy’s face floods with an expression of pure relief, tears spilling from his eyes.

“Please, Steve, please.”

So Steve slides in between Billy’s knees. Rests his lips so carefully on Billy’s neck, and then opens his mouth to let his teeth touch the skin. He presses harder, the tiniest amount of pressure, and then Billy’s gasping, reaching up a hand to push at Steve’s head, to hold him closer against the skin. Steve presses down a bit more, still not a bite, but it feels enough to leave a mark, and Billy lets him go. 

“This ok?” Steve asks, coming up for breath. 

Billy nods frantically, fingers flying to his shirt to unbutton the rest, his soft stomach on display for Steve. Steve makes his way down, gentle nibbles from Billy’s neck, across his pecs, until Steve’s where’s he’s wanted to be all along, and he can press his lips against the spill of flesh that rests just over Billy’s waistband, get it between his teeth and bite down, the same minimal pressure as before, enough for Billy to feel it, but not enough to hurt, not enough to cause any actual harm. Billy lets out another moan, deeper this time, his eyes closed, “Oh Steve, please…”

Steve laps his tongue over the flesh between his teeth, before letting it go and moving his head along, repeating the whole thing again on another part of Billy’s skin, Steve feels determined to map the whole of Billy’s stomach with nothing more than his mouth, wants to spend all night here, just lying on Billy’s sofa with his face pressed into Billy’s warm skin, wants to spend hours chasing away all of Billy’s lingering fears.

And Steve no longer needs to ask if it’s OK. The swell in Billy’s jeans in answering that question. But Steve moves his hand down cautiously anyway, rests it over Billy’s crotch and looks up at him, giving him the chance to move away, the chance to push Steve off him. Billy gives his answer when he reaches down to push Steve hand away, only to unbutton his jeans and shimmy out of them, his cock bobbing free. No underwear, Steve notices with a smile.

Still, Steve waits a moment, takes the time to grab Billy’s hand, to press soft kisses along his fingers, to suck one into his mouth and scrape his teeth along the finger tip, to feel the rough skin on his tongue, gives himself a minute to think, to let his brain catch up with his body, before he brings his attention back to Billy’s cock, taking it into his mouth, wrapping his lips over his teeth and letting his tongue do most of the work now.

  
And Steve’s had this dream before. Normally it’s him back in highschool, after hours with wet knees on the floor of the gym showers, Billy’s cock in his mouth and his hand in Steve’s hair. No noise but the spray of the showers and Billy’s voice mockingly calling him ‘King’, saying how good he looks down there.

But this, this is beyond anything Steve could’ve imagined. 

Because Billy is looking at him with such awe, such damn wonder in his eyes. And every time Steve makes a move, does anything with his hands or his mouth, Billy makes exquisite little noises, little breathy gasps or moans from the back of his throat, noises that send a kick right to Steve’s cock, make it press uncomfortably against his jeans, until he’s got no choice but to unfasten his jeans and get a hand around it, stroking himself as he licks Billy up and down, sloppy sucking which has Steve’s drooling and has Billy shouting a warning and trying to pull away. Steve holds Billy’s hips with one hand, keeping him in position, and then Billy’s cock is twitching and he comes, spilling into Steve’s mouth as he stutters, ‘Oh fuck, oh Steve, oh fuck,’ his wrecked voice pushing Steve over the edge. 

Steve sways a little on his knees after that, lets his head rest on Billy’s thigh for a moment. Billy runs a hand through his sweaty hair, tugs at it gently until Steve is looking up at him, his brown eyes not quite focused.

“I forgive you,” he mumbles, his tongue tripping over the words, “I do, Billy. I mean it.”

“Come back up Stevie,” Billy murmurs, voice softer than Steve’s ever heard it, and so he does. He scrambles onto the sofa, entirely undignified, and slumps his head onto Billy’s chest, now bare and scattered with red marks, a trail of little hickeys marking Steve’s descent. 

Steve swirls his finger over them, traces the path he’d made.

“I shoulda forgiven you before,” Steve says, watching his fingers dancing along, “I was a dick about it.”

“Yeah,” Billy’s laugh is quiet, Steve can feel it rumbling under his ear, “But I’m kinda glad you didn’t. Feel better to earn it. Feels...right.”

There’s a beat, and then Billy speaks again.

“I’m already signed off,” he says, quieter, more serious. 

“Huh?”

“The government thing, the therapy...I kinda...I lied. Well, no, it was true. The assignment was real. And I  _ did  _ have to apologise. And you were on my list. The last one.”

Steve starts to sit up, but Billy’s hand pushes into his hair, starts stroking, so Steve stays down.

“But Mona, the therapist, she didn’t...she didn’t care that much. Didn’t need any proof. I just...it didn’t feel right. Leaving without talking to you. Without you forgiving me.” 

Steve doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t have to worry, because Billy keeps talking. 

“The other person on the list, I don’t think I’ll ever see her again. And I don’t even know why I wanted to say sorry, she's the one that left me. I guess I just figured it was something I did... I try not to think about it. But I know what it’s like when someone leaves without saying sorry, and I didn’t want to do that.”

Steve can hear Billy’s voice cracking a little on the last word, and he reaches over to squeeze at Billy’s hand, the one not currently buried in his hair. Holds it tightly.

“You’re really gonna go to Cali then?” Steve asks quietly, and Billy tenses a little underneath him. 

“I might wait a little,” he says eventually, and Steve can feel Billy’s fingers stroking along his arm, “Might save up for a car first,” Billy’s fingers make their way down to Steve’s hip, drawing small circles. 

“You could get a job in the diner,” Steve smiles, “People’ll come for miles for that toffee pudding thing.” 

“You think?” Steve can tell Billy is smiling too, can hear it, “Cause I wasn’t that sure about it. Might need a second opinion tomorrow night.”

And Steve grins wide, can’t help himself from nuzzling into Billy’s neck again and pressing his teeth against the mark there.

“I think that can be arranged.” 


End file.
